June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Bridgton is the Happy Day Bouquet

The Happy Day Bouquet from Bloom Central is simply adorable. This charming floral arrangement is perfect for brightening up any room in your home. It features a delightful mix of vibrant flowers that will instantly bring joy to anyone who sees them.

With cheery colors and a playful design the Happy Day Bouquet is sure to put a smile on anyone's face. The bouquet includes a collection of yellow roses and luminous bupleurum plus white daisy pompon and green button pompon. These blooms are expertly arranged in a clear cylindrical glass vase with green foliage accents.

The size of this bouquet is just right - not too big and not too small. It is the perfect centerpiece for your dining table or coffee table, adding a pop of color without overwhelming the space. Plus, it's so easy to care for! Simply add water every few days and enjoy the beauty it brings to your home.

What makes this arrangement truly special is its versatility. Whether you're celebrating a birthday, anniversary, or simply want to brighten someone's day, the Happy Day Bouquet fits the bill perfectly. With timeless appeal makes this arrangement is suitable for recipients of all ages.

If you're looking for an affordable yet stunning gift option look no further than the Happy Day Bouquet from Bloom Central. As one of our lowest priced arrangements, the budget-friendly price allows you to spread happiness without breaking the bank.

Ordering this beautiful bouquet couldn't be easier either. With Bloom Central's convenient online ordering system you can have it delivered straight to your doorstep or directly to someone special in just a few clicks.

So why wait? Treat yourself or surprise someone dear with this delightful floral arrangement today! The Happy Day Bouquet will undoubtedly uplift spirits and create lasting memories filled with joy and love.

Amaranthus does not behave like other flowers. It does not sit politely in a vase, standing upright, nodding gently in the direction of the other blooms. It spills. It drapes. It cascades downward in long, trailing tendrils that look more like something from a dream than something you can actually buy from a florist. It refuses to stay contained, which is exactly why it makes an arrangement feel alive.

There are two main types, though “types” doesn’t really do justice to how completely different they look. There’s the upright kind, with tall, tapering spikes that look like velvet-coated wands reaching toward the sky, adding height and texture and this weirdly ancient, almost prehistoric energy to a bouquet. And then there’s the trailing kind, the showstopper, the one that flows downward in thick ropes, soft and heavy, like some extravagant, botanical waterfall. Both versions have a weight to them, a physical presence that makes the usual rules of flower arranging feel irrelevant.

And the color. Deep, rich, impossible-to-ignore shades of burgundy, magenta, crimson, chartreuse. They look saturated, velvety, intense, like something out of an old oil painting, the kind where fruit and flowers are arranged on a wooden table with dramatic lighting and tiny beads of condensation on the grapes. Stick Amaranthus in a bouquet, and suddenly it feels more expensive, more opulent, more like it should be displayed in a room with high ceilings and heavy curtains and a kind of hushed reverence.

But what really makes Amaranthus unique is movement. Arrangements are usually about balance, about placing each stem at just the right angle to create a structured, harmonious composition. Amaranthus doesn’t care about any of that. It moves. It droops. It reaches out past the edge of the vase and pulls everything around it into a kind of organic, unplanned-looking beauty. A bouquet without Amaranthus can feel static, frozen, too aware of its own perfection. Add those long, trailing ropes, and suddenly there’s drama. There’s tension. There’s this gorgeous contrast between what is contained and what refuses to be.

And it lasts. Long after more delicate flowers have wilted, after the petals have started falling and the leaves have lost their luster, Amaranthus holds on. It dries beautifully, keeping its shape and color for weeks, sometimes months, as if it has decided that decay is simply not an option. Which makes sense, considering its name literally means “unfading” in Greek.

Amaranthus is not for the timid. It does not blend in, does not behave, does not sit quietly in the background. It transforms an arrangement, giving it depth, movement, and this strange, undeniable sense of history, like it belongs to another era but somehow ended up here. Once you start using it, once you see what it does to a bouquet, how it changes the whole mood of a space, you will not go back. Some flowers are beautiful. Amaranthus is unforgettable.

Are looking for a Bridgton florist because you are not local to the area? If so, here is a brief travelogue of what Bridgton has to offer. Who knows, perhaps you'll be intrigued enough to come visit soon, partake in some of the fun activities Bridgton has to offer and deliver flowers to your loved one in person!

Bridgton, Maine, in late September is the kind of place that makes you wonder whether someone’s fiddling with the saturation levels of reality. The hills ripple with maples turned nuclear orange, the sky hangs blue as a new bruise, and the air smells like apples left to rot sweetly in tall grass. You half-expect to see a crew of technicians in headsets adjusting the lighting. But no, this is just how it is here, a town where the ordinary insists on being extraordinary, quietly, without fanfare, as if embarrassed by its own charm.

Drive north from Portland and the sprawl dissolves. Gas stations become barns. Traffic lights vanish. The road narrows, and suddenly you’re on Main Street, which is exactly what you picture when someone says “Main Street”: clapboard storefronts, a redbrick library, a diner with checkered curtains. The buildings huddle close, as though conspiring to keep the cold out. People here still wave at strangers. They hold doors. They ask about your mother’s hip replacement. Time doesn’t exactly stop in Bridgton, but it does amble, pausing to inspect wildflowers or chat with the woman at the post office who knows your box number by heart.

Same day service available. Order your Bridgton floral delivery and surprise someone today!

Summer is Bridgton’s loudest season. Highland Lake glitters with kayaks and children cannonballing off docks. Tourists clog the ice cream stand, debating maple walnut versus black raspberry. But come autumn, the town exhales. Locals reclaim their porches. The lake goes still, mirroring the sky so perfectly it’s hard to tell where water ends and air begins. You can bike the Mountain Road past pumpkin stands and farmstands, past old men selling honey in mason jars, past a sign that says FRESH CORN in letters so sun-bleached they’ve become a kind of folk art. Everything feels both ephemeral and eternal, like the town is savoring the moment before the first snow.

Winter here is less a season than a test of character. Temperatures plunge. The wind howls off the White Mountains. Snow piles up in drifts taller than children. And yet, cross-country skiers glide through woods so quiet you can hear the creak of frozen branches. Woodsmoke curls from chimneys. At the general store, mittened hands clutch coffees while people debate the merits of snowblower brands. There’s a collective pride in enduring, in outlasting the cold. You get the sense that Bridgton’s residents view winter not as an adversary but as a cranky relative who overstays their welcome yet somehow makes Christmas better.

Spring arrives like a pardon. Crocuses punch through mud. The lake sheds its ice in jagged sheets. High school athletes jog down roads still potholed from frost heaves. At the town green, someone repaints the bandstand, and the smell of fresh latex mixes with thawing earth. It’s a season of minor resurrections: robins, daffodils, the reemergence of shorts on middle-aged men undeterred by pale legs. The hardware store restocks fishing lures and birdseed. Neighbors gather to clear storm drains. Everything drips.

What’s easy to miss, though, is how Bridgton resists the 21st century’s cult of velocity. No one’s in a rush. The coffee shop’s Wi-Fi password is written on a chalkboard that hasn’t changed since 2015. The movie theater still shows films two months after they leave multiplexes. This isn’t nostalgia; it’s a choice. Life here moves at the speed of growing things, of weather fronts, of the gradual tilt of the earth. You can’t hurry the strawberries. You can’t hurry the frost. You can’t hurry the woman at the bakery who insists on telling you about her granddaughter’s ballet recital as she wraps your muffin.

To visit is to wonder why more places aren’t like this. To stay is to understand: Bridgton isn’t perfect. It has potholes and propane bills and days when the fog never lifts. But it has a way of measuring time in seasons instead of seconds, of holding onto the idea that some things, kindness, quiet, the view from Pleasant Mountain at dusk, are worth keeping.